I picked up an ant colony in POFA and drove those mofos all the way to NOLA before I could convince them that my home was truly inhospitable. I had been parked in George and Nicole's driveway for a month, and apparently, the local ants came in seeking higher ground, up my shore-line (the electrical wire), and into the basement compartments, where they were tunneling up between the carpet or linoleum and the frame of the rig. I knew the were there because everything was covered in construction dust and debris. Fascinating! Not.
Well, I know my enemy fairly well, and I spent way too many weeks spraying and praying, bombing and swearing, and staring at every little speck inside this rig--to see if it had legs. Eventually, as my pal Linda assured me, her Terro ant killer did the deed. I just had to wait a week for it to do the job.
I used to love ants, and found them to be really interesting. When I was in junior high I decided to create an ant colony I could enter into the school Science Fair. I gouged out a piece of 1" x 4" and struggled to set two sheets of windowpane glass in the grooves. Added end-caps, and filled it with dirt. Then I set it outside, drizzled honey and sugar from the ground, up and over into the contraption, and within days I had an ant colony. Except, that the airplane glue I used to seal the base pretty quickly killed them all off once I put the top on. Back to the garage: more gouging, more bandaids, and one really serious wound that might have needed stitches, but I kept that one hidden from Mom. Finally, it was finished. Using the same routine, I attracted them to move in, and just in time for the Fair, I had a really fine looking colony of ants, tunneling, making chambers for their eggs. Fascinating! I won second prize that year.
When I was a little toddler, my mom would put me out in the back yard to play, and she’d keep an eye on me as she hung out laundry, cleaned the house, or prepared the next meal. One morning she came out with a basket of wash to put on the line and found me laying face down, motionless on the concrete. She was horrified that I’d had a fall that knocked me out, but no, I was coaxing the ants to march up and over my extended fingers. They'd resist at first, but if I was persistent enough, they'd trot on up. Mom knew at that point that I was a weird kid, but she remained in denial about it.